


Spark, Burn

by FreshBrains



Category: Ant-Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Community: 100_men, Community: comment_fic, Dialogue Heavy, Dom Tony Stark, Dom/sub, Humor, M/M, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Smoking, Spanking, Under-negotiated Kink, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-20
Updated: 2016-05-20
Packaged: 2018-06-09 15:58:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6913768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreshBrains/pseuds/FreshBrains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“This is weird. I’m into it, but it’s weird."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spark, Burn

**Author's Note:**

> For the LJ comment_fic prompt [Tony/any adult besides Bucky, Tony gives someone a harsh discipline spanking](http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/720450.html?thread=95104322#t95104322) and the 100_men prompt #31: [Hit](http://fresh-brainss.livejournal.com/6514.html).

“If you think you’re going to come, you’d be incorrect,” Tony says, reaching over to grab a cigar from the night table. He doesn’t indulge very often anymore, but these are _good_ cigars—a real bone box of Gurkha Black Dragons, delivered to his doorstep as all fine things should be.

As Scott Lang was, dropped like a sack of potatoes by Rhodey after he was spotted trying to slip his way past the AI into Tony’s workshop. The real shit on the shoe is that he probably _would’ve_ gotten in, if not for Tony and his pesky Rhodey, which makes Tony _real_ sour.

Nobody breaks into his house without permission. And thus far, Tony has _not_ given permission.

“Yeah, no, kind of got that, Iron Man,” Scott says from where he’s laid across Tony’s lap, shirt rucked up the small of his back. Tony’s free hand plays at the skin there, traces his spine, pointedly avoiding the reddened skin of his ass and thighs. “But, I mean, _you’re_ hard, _I’m_ hard, I was assuming there’d be some sort of mutual—“

His words are cut off by a firm smack across his ass. Tony didn’t bother removing his ring, and there’s a smudge of engine grease on Scott’s hip, straight from Tony’s skin to his. Tony can’t remember the last time he did this without a signed contract and a room with a rack of whips in the corner. “There’s nothing mutual about this, Bug’s Life.”

“Then this is weird. I’m into it, but it’s weird,” Scott says. He’s an almost impossibly pleasing sub—he sits still, he follows instructions, and he’s not too hard on the eyes. He also has the attitude of a man who has been through far worse, which Tony can always appreciate. “I can’t remember the last time I’ve done this without a sock in my mouth or a woman with leather boots calling me names in Swedish.”

“Oddly specific, but I’m hip to your jive,” Tony says, landing another blow. Scott hisses in a breath, obviously starting to feel the burn. Tony hasn’t been gentle with him, and it shows—Scott’s ass is red across the board, swollen in spots. “You’re lucky I don’t have a thing for silence, or I’d be tearing you up a lot worse.”

“Lucky, right,” Scott says, and arches his back _just so_ , ass pushing into the blows.

 _Playing dirty_ , Tony thinks—the movement is perfect. It’s bold, it’s generous, it tells Tony that Scott has most _definitely_ done this before. He lifts his cigar to his lips. “There’s a lighter on the bed next to your pants. Grab it and give it a flick.”

Scott scrabbles for the silver Bic. When Tony spanks him again, a hard, big palm on his left cheek, Scott swears and drops it back on the bed.

“Now, that’s a freebie, because I came out of left field. But if you drop it while it’s hot, well, then, you’re in it deep,” Tony says, the words mangled through the cigar in his mouth. “Try again.”

Scott’s dick jumps against Tony’s thigh. He’s wet, leaking against Tony’s jeans, naked from the waist down, and Tony _might_ just give in and get him off, but not now. They’ve barely even begun. Scott flicks the lighter to life, and this time, when Tony hits him, he doesn’t falter in the least. He holds it up with a shaking hand, and Tony plucks his cigar out of his mouth and lights it.

“Good boy,” Tony says easily, and Scott groans into the comforter where his face is mashed into the material. Tony’s eyes light up and his cock twitches in his jeans. “Ah, someone liked that. And by someone, I mean my dick.”

“One would assume,” Scott says, voice muffled by the comforter. He squirms in Tony’s lap. “Come on, I’m a glutton for _literal_ punishment. You’re killing me here.”

“Not your call,” Tony says firmly, but gives in, landing another smack spreading across Scott’s entire ass. He gets into a rut after that—hard, relentless blows that make Scott groan and squirm on his lap, crying out every few times. He’s still holding the lighter, long gone cold.

Tony taps the ash off his cigar. It falls, collecting in the small of Scott’s back. If Tony could hazard a guess, he’d say there was about thirty bucks of cigar on Scott’s sweaty skin, waiting to be smeared into the waiting flesh. And if _that_ doesn’t get a billionaire bastard hot, then what does? He swipes his thumb through the ash, leaving a charcoal streak on the dimples above Scott’s ass. He hits harder, then, and _harder_ , knowing Scott will tell him when enough is enough.

“I think—I think I get it,” Scott finally gasps, dropping the lighter onto the carpet with a muffled thump. He’s squirming away from the blows now, clenching at every strike, like he’s desperate for something inside of him, like he’s desperate for a different sort of pleasure-pain. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. No more sneaking around. I’ll be—“ he pauses, sniffling, trying to hide it. “Better.”

Tony loves that he doesn’t say _good_. Good guys don’t like getting their asses spanked by their pseudo-rivals, anyways. Tony thinks good guys might be boring like that.

Tony lifts his hand for a final smack and pauses, watching as Scott’s breath hitches and he curls in on himself, away from the pain. He doesn’t let the blow land. Instead, he says, “Do you want to hang out? See the workshop, go for a swim, fuck around a little—if you’re into that sort of thing?”

There’s a moment of silence, then Scott breathes out, heavy and hard, “ _Fuck_ , yeah, that sounds awesome.” The comforter is damp below his face, and Tony takes out his hankie and offers it to Scott. This isn’t his first rodeo. “You’re going to have to provide adequate aftercare, though. I’m no chump.”

“Deal,” Tony says. He’s got a lotion with _actual_ diamond dust in it, and he’s been saving it for a special occasion.


End file.
